


Tea with Death

by Yuliares



Series: Fairy Tale and Folklore Remixes [3]
Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Awkward Conversations, Brothers, Gen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuliares/pseuds/Yuliares
Summary: The doorbell buzzed again, insistent.With a sigh, Mike hauled himself out of the couch, down the hallways, and to the front door. He flipped the deadlock, tugged the handle, and locked eyes with… Death, his long shadow darkening the doorstep and leeching the color from his begonias.
Series: Fairy Tale and Folklore Remixes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940152
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Tea with Death

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the tumblr prompt:  
>  _You hear a knock on the door. You answer, and it's the grim reapers. "How about some tea?" you ask. There hasn't been tea in your house for years, so you're going to have to stall yourself some time._

  
The doorbell buzzed, loud and unpleasant.  
  
Mike paused his show, confused. He wasn’t expecting a package. Nor visitors.  
  
The doorbell buzzed again, insistent.  
  
With a sigh, Mike hauled himself out of the couch, down the hallways, and to the front door. He flipped the deadlock, tugged the handle, and locked eyes with… Death, his long shadow darkening the doorstep and leeching the color from his begonias.  
  
Mike’s grin froze on his face.  
  
“Michael,” said Death. Softly, a whisper that one couldn’t unhear.  
  
“Right,” faltered Mike, blinking rapidly. “How about some tea?” He took a step back and waved, inviting Death into the entryway.  
  
Death stared blankly at him. “You know why I’m here.”  
  
“We are not going to do this on my doorstep,” Mike said, clenching his teeth. He really hoped his neighbors weren’t looking out their windows right now. “Just - just come inside.”  
  
For a long moment, Death stood immobile, before inclining his head and striding through the doorway. Mike closed the door with exaggerated care, refastened the deadbolt, and took a deep breath. “The kitchen’s just down the hall, on the right.”  
  
He knew Death would come. He was prepared. Had been, for ages, but now… he shook his head sharply, trying to scatter the nerves.  
  
Death sat at the kitchen island, draining the oranges in the fruit basket into a dull gray.  
  
Mike filled the kettle with shaking hands, and slid it onto the burner.  
  
Death finally broke the silence. “The seals have been broken, but you do not ride.”  
  
Right to the point.  
  
“I like to take the bus,” Mike told him.  
  
“You _must_ be the _first!_ ” Death hissed. “Why do you not ride?”  
  
Mike whirled around, slamming his palms against the counter. “I don’t _want_ to ride!”  
  
Death drew back in surprise. “You must-”  
  
“No, I really don’t!” he yelled. “None of us do!”  
  
“We each have our charge!”  
  
Mike had planned to do this calmly. To explain, logically, a compelling presentation of facts. He had made _flashcards_. Instead he was shouting, and now that he had started, Mike couldn’t hold the words back.  
  
“To what end? They already begin the march on their own! Conspiracy theorists, paranoid mums with blogs - ancient plagues are returning. They turn their backs on the innovations of their ancestors!”  
  
“But your brothers! You bar the way!”  
  
“I’ve already talked to Gabe! He doesn’t want to ride - everything is already here - civil wars, nuclear warheads, mass apathy-”  
  
“Raphael-”  
  
“Enough food to feed the world and still hundreds starve? Global warming and an impending agricultural crisis? He’d rather tend his greenhouse than take up his scales!”  
  
The kettle began to scream.  
  
Mike turned his back to snatched it off the burner, breathing hard. He didn’t turn back.  
  
“I don’t actually have any tea,” he admitted, reaching to turn the burner off.  
  
“...top shelf, to your left.”  
  
Mike reached and reached, and sure enough - a dusty box of tea bags. Must have been left by the previous tenant.  
  
Mike took a deep breath and turned. “How did you...”  
  
Death… shrugged. It was alarmingly casual. “Death of plants is still my domain.”  
  
“Didn’t know you could tell,” Mike said cautiously, reaching for two mugs.  
  
“It’s been a recent... interest.”  
  
Mike tore the tea bags open and poured the water. “Always good to have a hobby.”  
  
“You have… interests?”  
  
Mike thought for a moment. “I’ve joined a baseball league. Just casual, bunch of office workers getting together on the weekend.”  
  
Death nodded, and there was a moment of silence.  
  
“And what of me?” Death finally asked. “You won’t ride for yourself, nor your first two brothers. What of the last?”  
  
Mike pushed a mug over. “All things lead to you, little brother. Whether you ride or not.”  
  
Death looked down at it. “You didn’t let it steep for very long.”  
  
“You like it pale,” Mike told him and, for the first time since the doorbell rang, felt his face crack into a smile.  
  
“You remember,” murmured Death, lifting the mug. The scalding heat gave him no pause. “You were always more of a coffee drinker, once that had been discovered.”  
  
Mike took a cautious sip of the tea and made a face. “Yeah, this is awful.”  
  
“Subtle.”  
  
“Subtly _bad_ ,” Mike agreed.  
  
Death tipped the mug up again. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”  
  
Mike laughed shortly. “The foundation of our relationship.” He poked the mug handle, spun it around. “You don’t seem angry.”  
  
Death stilled.  
  
“The ride,” Mike said, then clarified. “The _lack_ of the ride.”  
  
Death curled around the mug. It had been blue. Mike doubted it’d ever regain its color. “I’m… disappointed. It is difficult to hear. But I find I am not... surprised. If you had wanted to ride, you would have done so.”  
  
Mike spun his mug a bit harder, tea sloshing over one edge. “I was expecting you sooner, you know.”  
  
“I thought my reputation for patience was still well known,” Death said. “I didn’t realize I was behind schedule.”  
  
“Death is always on the way,” Mike quoted. “Paul Bowles.”  
  
“Still a reader, then.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Still shoot?”  
  
“No. Not… no.”  
  
Death nodded, and set down his drained mug. “I should go.”  
  
“You should come back, sometime,” Mike tentatively suggested. “We could watch a vampire movie. If you still like those.”  
  
The shroud of Death’s face twitched. “The tea options are very limited.”  
  
“I can stock up,” Mike said, as Death stood and made his way back down the hallway.  
  
“Give my greetings… to our brothers.”  
  
“You could visit them too, you know,” Mike told him, gently. “We don’t need the ride to… reconnect.”  
  
Death’s face… shuddered. Darkened. “In time, perhaps.”  
  
They stared at each other.  
  
Death raised a hand, and Mike moved to clasp it.  
  
“Farewell, Michael,” Death whispered, and Mike was struck by how fragile it seemed.  
  
“Brother,” he said. “Uriel. Come… visit again. There’s a supernatural flick coming out on Netflix, next month. Got vampires and zombies.”  
  
“The concept of the undead never ceases to amuse me,” Death admitted, and pulled back.  
  
With the click of a tumbler and the turn of a handle, he was gone.  
  
Mike closed the door. Locked it again.  
  
Back in the kitchen, he looked at the two mugs on the counter - one empty, one still full. The oranges were still rather gray.  
  
He sipped the full one again, grimaced, and dumped the rest of it down the drain.  
  
Disgusting.  
  
_Tea_ , he wrote on the shopping list stuck to the fridge. _Not green._


End file.
